The cacophony of small talk, stuttered to a halt as Arthur begged the gathering for attention.

"Ladies, gentlemen, if I may, for a moment. I know this gathering is intended as a meeting to resolve priorities for the anniversary celebration—and may I say, the turnout is a sterling compliment to the spirit of the community. I also know, and please do not be offended, that a number of you came simply for the opportunity to see my home." He quelled the coughing and muttered protests.

"No no, that's fine. I don't mind really. If I did, you wouldn't be here at all." The sting vanished behind a broad smile. "My point in mentioning this is, that I believe we should postpone starting the meeting for another thirty minutes or so, because I anticipate the arrival of even more like-minded citizens."

Susan blanched and sat forward in the embarrassing silence. "Mr. Paisley, I assure you that I- we had no intention of- of..."

Arthur slipped his hands into his pocket and smiled at the floor. "Relax, Miss Ho. As I said, I don't really mind. I just thought that we should give any others who might be coming, a few minutes grace." He withdrew his hands and clapped them together. "So, please continue to enjoy yourselves. Hartley Melencore has provided an abundance of snacks, although I believe he would apply a different description, and there is ample selection at the bar.

"The patio offers a lovely view over the park and there are some tables and chairs on the lawn. Half an hour then, Susan, and you can continue with the intended agenda." He swooped his arms together in a, let's, -all rise- gesture, and showered them with his most gracious, host's smile.

"Well he certainly got that right. I could name the ones he was referring to in a heartbeat." Daryl trundled toward the patio with a plateful of Hartley's 'snacks'.

"Not you though, eh, Osborne?" Allen followed behind, firing his sarcastic remark with unerring aim.

"No not me!" He retorted, holding a plastic fork that joined the lump on his plate by a thin strand of cheese. "This mausoleum don't interest me in the least."

"'Course not."

"You boys at it again?" Tiffany tottered onto the flag patio, balancing a plate and a large glass of scotch.

"Just your husband doin' some, out-of-earshot, suck-ups. It's how he gets his exercise." Daryl shot him a withering glance, unable to respond through a mouthful of gummy cheese.

"Lay off, Allen." Tiffany scolded. "I'm going to join that table over there. Who's coming?" She picked her way delicately down the steps to the lawn, and on quivering spike heels, made her way to the table on the far side of the garden.

"Hi people, got room for one more?"

Ellen and Denise were sharing the table with Gavin, Patty and Peter, and they shuffled their chairs around to make room. Allen and Daryl dragged chairs from the other table and joined on the perimeter.

"Hi you two." Tiffany said to her neighbours. "She still an accommodating landlord?" Her drink hand indicating Ellen, her eyes on Denise.

"Very." Denise answered, with a bold calmness. Ellen scanned the others and dropped her eyes, blushing.

"Oh, do you rent property?" Patty asked, innocently.

"I live with Ellen and her husband." Denise informed, her eyes cutting back to Tiffany.

Patty waited for more, then sat back." Oh... how nice."

"Ellen's husband is our eminent town dentist." Tiffany continued.

"Is that Jeffery Richardson?" Peter asked. Ellen nodded a smile. "So is that your daughter that works in the bakery, what's her name... Arlene?"

"Yes it is. It's just a summer job. She's still in school."

"Aha. Nice girl, I bought some rolls from her the other day." No one seemed to have anything to add.

"So Proctor, you here alone?" Daryl called from the perimeter.

"Yep, just me, Filly's working on a deadline for the art gallery," he answered, good-naturedly.

"Yeah? She's a painter? What does she do?"

"Duh, he just said she was a painter." Allen shook his head in mild disgust.

"Bughroff." Daryl snarled, through a mouthful of pastry.

"Right now we- she's working on a special series of portraits of women in glamorous, period gowns. It's a series that covers several decades."

"Where'd she find them?" Allen asked. "Glamorous women." Falling into silence as his joke fell noticeably flat.

"Models," Gavin answered, anxious to change the subject. "So how's the hardware business? Need a place to stash your profits?"

"I'd rather gossip," Tiffany barged in, "I hear enough about business all day." Denise sneezed a laugh, grabbing a serviette and covering her face.

They sat in awkward silence, eating and sipping drinks, each considering a topic they might broach that would find neutral ground.

"This is quite a place." Peter again, glancing around the subtly lit lawn. A jumble of agreements blossomed just as a glow swept across the trees, arresting everyone's attention.

"Looks like old Paisley was right. That's another car arriving."

"I thought everyone was here. Who's missing?"

"Well Nigel, for one." Tiffany exclaimed. "Unless I missed him inside."

"Not likely." Allen murmured from the fringe, releasing another barb from his quiver of sarcasm.

"Look! More lights. Another load arriving."

"I'm going to see who it is." Tiffany struggled to her feet, tugged her short skirt into place, and tramped back to the house.